The prosecutors agreed to the deal. One afternoon in September, I went to the Madison County Courthouse, in downtown Huntsville, to watch Bishop plead guilty. Dozens of policemen had congregated for the arrival of the most notorious murderer in the county’s history. The courtroom was full of spectators, but Amy had asked her family to stay away. As she was led in, everyone craned their necks to catch a glimpse. She wore a red jumpsuit and flip-flops over white socks. The shackles around her ankles jingled like sleigh bells as she shuffled past. She had lost weight: her eyes were sunken and her pale forearms looked like Popsicle sticks. But she held her head high, flaring her nostrils a little, appraising the room with a residual trace of her anxious hauteur.